


Rush

by MajaLi



Series: Come Into My Parlor [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Crossdressing Kink, Forced Feminization, Knotting, M/M, Mild Painplay, Nipple Play, OneGoalFic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:03:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6661468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajaLi/pseuds/MajaLi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick brings home a present from the parlor and gets a present of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rush

**Author's Note:**

> So many thanks to [Tirsh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tirsh) for the word warring that got this going!! Third written, but chronologically second in the series. Let's go Hawks! #OneGoal

Jonny has long admired the wide range of specialty uniforms that the omega parlor makes available for its patrons, on request. They have the classics, of course, French maids and school girls for the female workers, police and military for the males; but Jonny’s often seen them fulfill more...customized...requests, from the exotic (like video game characters) to the astonishingly mundane (like heather grey leggings and soft, comfy-looking sweaters that bear a suspicious resemblance to the staff at the coffee shop two streets over). There’s one thing, though, that he’s never seen, and therefore never dared to ask for – and therefore has no idea how Patrick found out about...about...

“You like?” Patrick asks, tongue poking out from between his teeth as he grins and gives Jonny a little twirl. When he’d casually mentioned he was bringing home a spare dress uniform from the parlor, Jonny assumed Patrick meant the one Jonny had seen him wear dozens of times, after every Hawks home victory: a sheer white dress shirt and tailored black pants, held up by suspenders and topped off with a red bolero jacket that shows off his trim waist and slender hips. But this. _This_ is so very, very much _not that_.

Patrick beams wider when Jonny swallows, still unable to answer, and bounces a little on his toes, making his pleated black skirt flounce and flash the lacy red petticoat beneath. He’s wearing the same sheer shirt as always, but in place of suspenders drawing Jonny’s eyes up over his chest, it’s a color-blocked vest, black in back to match the skirt and Hawks crimson in front, buttoned up primly over Patrick’s abs before scooping out wide to accommodate breasts he doesn’t have, showing off instead the dark, tell-tale shadow of a black bralette. Jonny’s mouth waters as his eyes sweep back down the length of Patrick’s legs, pale thighs framed by the skirt above and by the piping on his white knee socks below, black and red like the ones Jonny wears at every away game. A pair of chunky, black suede pumps with slender stiletto heels completes the look, thick ankle straps emphasizing Patrick’s delicate joints, fastened in back with velvet bows.

“Get over here,” Jonny says, pushing his chair back from the kitchen table and reaching pleadingly for his mate. “Babe, get over here _right now_.”

Patrick obliges, heels clicking against hardwood and then tile as he wends his way from the bottom of the stairs, across the living room, to the breakfast nook where Jonny had been watching game tape and, foolishly, thinking he was going to get some work done today. Jonny can see his thighs rub together with every step, and it suddenly strikes him that there’s no way that Patrick could hide his usual boxer briefs – or even just briefs – under there. No sooner does the thought cross his mind than Patrick is in front of him, swinging one leg over Jonny’s hips and climbing into his lap, and it’s the slight rasp of the fabric against Jonny’s jeans that gives him away. Jonny’s fingers slide along the outside of his thigh, under his skirt, and find lace; he sucks in a quick breath, then groans as Patrick spreads his legs a little wider, pushing his ass back into Jonny’s hand.

“You like, Jonny?” he says again, demanding, hooking his feet around Jonny’s shins for leverage as he grinds hot and dirty into his lap. “Should have seen for yourself how you looked at some of the girls at work, how red you got when Trevor wore that kilt on St. Patrick’s Day.”

“Kilts aren’t even Irish,” Jonny mutters inanely, nosing under Patrick’s jaw until he finds the spot that makes Patrick moan and scent, arousal rolling out of him in delicious waves.

“And you didn’t care one bit, did you?”

Patrick thrusts forward again, cuts off whatever reply Jonny would have made with a greedy kiss, clinging to Jonny’s shoulders as he rubs himself off on Jonny’s stomach. Jonny pulls back to drag the collar of Patrick’s shirt aside, fumbling at the buttons with the hand not glued to Patrick’s ass until it finally falls open. The black lace of the bralette is stark against Patrick’s skin, the slender straps cutting crimson lines into the pale flesh. His nipples are already swollen underneath, just from the few minutes’ tease of wearing it, having it rub and chafe against them as he moves. Jonny takes pity on the tender flesh and flattens his tongue over one hard bud, licking and mouthing at it until the fabric is soaked through and soft. To the other he’s crueler, pressing the pad his thumb against it and rubbing hard to make the lace scratch roughly, then digging the tip of his thumbnail in until Patrick’s gasps.

“Don’t give me that.” Jonny presses the words into the lace, breath heating the wet fabric and drawing a shiver out of Patrick. “We both know you love it.”

To prove his point, he digs his nail in again, and again, Patrick’s hips jolting forward in time with the spikes of pain flashing along his nerves.

“More,” Patrick begs obediently. “Jonny, more, hurt them more – ” And what can Jonny do but close his teeth around the other nipple, tugging and worrying at it while Patrick wails. His thrusts speed up, grinding frantically against Jonny, fingers still vice-like on Jonny’s shoulders because he’s gone too far, too fast, to even think about reaching down to touch himself. After a few moments, though, Jonny stops him, taking away his hand and mouth both to grab onto Patrick’s hips, stilling them despite Patrick’s whine of frustration.

“Don’t you want to take it off?” he coaxes, but Patrick shakes his head vigorously.

“Wanna come like this.” He strains against Jonny’s grip, thighs taught and quickly reddening where Jonny’s fingers dig into the hard muscle. “All dressed up and pretty for you...”

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Jonny breathes it out hot and wet, muffled in the curve of Patrick’s shoulder. “Okay. Okay.” He slides his hands up, pushing Patrick’s skirt higher and higher until he can cup the bulge of his cock, trapped in a swollen curl inside of Patrick’s tiny panties. “You want me to get you out? Or get you off like this, all tied up and nowhere to go?” Patrick’s whimper is answer enough, shoving greedily into Jonny’s hand, too eager for the pressure and friction to even let Jonny get skin on skin.

It has to ache, has to be outright painful, for Patrick to be held down like that, but when Jonny squeezes lightly, he’s rewarded with another whimper and an eager spurt of precome, soaking quickly through the thing fabric and making it stick to Jonny’s fingers. He squeezes Patrick’s cock again, a little harder, and then presses his thumb down, searching for the head of Patrick’s cock and then digging the tip of his thumb into the tender slit, hard enough that Patrick’s wail chokes off into a thin gasp. As soon as Jonny eases off the pressure, though, Patrick shoves his hips forward again, unrelenting and unsatisfied.

“ _More_ ,” he repeats, spreading his knees even wider so he can get better leverage with his calves, greedily riding Jonny’s hand. So Jonny gives him more, shoving at Patrick’s skirt until he can actually see what he’s doing, see the way Patrick’s cock curves and swells above the rounded shadow of his trapped balls. With Patrick’s fingers white-knuckled on his shoulders, Jonny is free to let go of his thigh with the other hand as well, coaxing his hips upward with rough tugs on his cock so he can slide two fingers into the gusset of Patrick’s panties, dragging a nail along his balls. It makes Patrick’s head drop back, mouth falling open as he shivers with pleasure, the more-than-edge of pain pushing him over the edge to where he can’t even make demands on Jonny any more, just take everything Jonny gives him, eagerly and gratefully.

Jonny doesn’t even realize when Patrick comes, at first, because the front of his panties are already drenched and his hips just keep jerking forward into the grip of Jonny’s hand on his cock, down onto the rough dig of his fingernails against Patrick’s balls. It’s the wet gush of slick that gives it away, streaking glistening trails along Patrick’s thighs and leaving damp patches on Jonny’s pants.

The moment Jonny feels it, _smells_ it, he’s suddenly and painfully aware that he hasn’t even gotten his own cock out, and he can’t stand it for a second longer. Patrick whines when Jonny pulls his hands away, but Jonny ignores him in favor of dragging at the button of his jeans. He doesn’t even bother to push them down his hips, just tugs his cock free, fists it for a moment as he savors the scent of Patrick’s slick, all impatient heat, like cinnamon and ginger and cayenne tickling his nostrils, warming the back of his nose and throat.

He pulls at Patrick’s hip to bring him closer, tugging at the gusset of his panties again, but this time it’s to drag it aside and rub the head of his cock between Patrick’s ass cheeks until he finds the soft hole waiting for him, wet and loose from Patrick’s orgasm. Patrick goes easily at first, but when he realizes what Jonny’s about to do he tenses up, pushing at Jonny’s chest so that Jonny has to shift the hand from Patrick’s waist to wrap his arm around instead, keeping him in place.

“Jonny, you can’t,” Patrick pleads, giving up on his attempt to escape. “My...my panties are already a mess, if you fuck me while I’m wearing them – ”

“You said you wanted to come like this.” Jonny smiles mercilessly, fitting the head of his cock back against Patrick’s hole and pushing his hips up, teasing at pushing in. “Don’t you like being my pretty girl?”

“M’not a gi- _irl_.” Patrick shudders as the head of Jonny’s cock pops into him, head lolling for a minute before he gathers himself and tries to pull up and off, only to be held down by the bar of Jonny’s arm across the small of his back.

“Oh, I think you are. _You’re_ the one who brought home these pretty clothes, and got all dressed up for me, and begged me to make you come with your skirt and bra still on, let alone your panties.”

Jonny knows he’s won when Patrick lets out a shaky sigh and sinks all the way down on his cock, thighs giving out as he lets Jonny fill him up. But he can’t resist pushing a little further, just like he always does, letting go of Patrick’s waist to tuck his hand back up under Patrick’s skirt.

“Is that right?” he asks, nudging Patrick’s cock with his knuckles and pumping his hips up, making Patrick bounce up and down on his cock. “Are you my pretty, slutty girl, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes, Jonny,” Patrick stutters, the words jolted in the middle by the jolt of Jonny’s cock inside him.

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’m your...your slutty g-girl...”

“And this?” Jonny thrusts faster, making Patrick sink forward and slump against his chest with a small, defeated noise. “What’s this lovely, wet hole I’m fucking right now?”

“P-pussy,” Patrick gasps out, “you’re fucking your slutty girl’s pussy, Jonny, oh _god_...”

“Such a good girl.” Jonny strokes Patrick’s hair, satisfied, and lets himself go, driving up and up into Patrick. After a few minutes he feels his knot start to come up and sinks back into the chair with a groan, panting as his orgasm washes over him, deep rushes of pleasure that make him swell and swell with every gush of come into Patrick, sealing it inside with his girth.

"Gonna be _real_ full soon," he murmurs.

Patrick just yawns and smiles.


End file.
